


Dragon Age - a trope bingo

by chosendragon



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabbles, Evil Weapon, Gen, Gorgeous Garment Generation, One-Shots, Shorts but not the kinds on your legs, Tempting Fate, The Shadow Knows, Written before i played the game, maybe those later, trope bingo?, when trees attack, written when i was watching my sisters playthrough, wrote these a long time ago
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2695667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chosendragon/pseuds/chosendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few (rather aged) stories from a kind of trope bingo. Really not very good, but it's about time I posted something here. Hopefully you can enjoy the ridiculousness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Trees Attack

**Author's Note:**

> I played trope bingo, but I think I might have done it wrong- see, there was no bingo board, I just clicked "random" until I got something that could be applied to the world.

It was a beautiful day, Merrill reflected- really, really beautiful.  And she loved the forest, honestly she did, the flowers and birds and animals and the _trees_.  
            But not these trees.  
            Merrill stumbled backwards as she desperately tried to avoid the reaching branches of the sylvan. Its sticklike fingers- or was it fingerlike sticks?- raked across her chest and arm, leaving shallow, dirty cuts in the unarmored crook of her elbow.   
            “Bad tree!" Merrill shouted, twirling her staff. "Sit! Stay! Roll over!"  
            The tree did not seem to be listening, and swiped at her again. There was a wet twanging sound as the beast lifted its roots from the ground, taking what bipeds might call a 'step.' Not good, Merrill thought, very not good.  
            The birds in the less sentient trees were tweeting a warning across the forest. Merrill desperately hoped Hawke and the others could hear it; she wasn't quite sure what her friends had been thinking when they had volunteered her to scout ahead. Perhaps Anders had needed to stay being to heal Isabela (no one had thought those acorns would explode), and perhaps Hawke had to keep a look out at camp, and perhaps her Dalish heritage did give her a natural advantage, but REALLY, some back up would have been nice.  
            At this point, it couldn't be helped, however. Merrill would either return to camp triumphant or Hawke would find her mangled body. She hoped the Keeper would be kind enough to bury her body in a sunny place- and not plant one of _these_ trees on top of her.  
            But she wouldn't die. Merrill thrust her staff foreword and shouted the first spell that came to mind.   
            A huge fireball exploded in the glen, throwing Merrill back against a benevolent trunk. The menacing tree gave a creaking moan, its leaves and branches alight, then it crumbled to the scorched grass.  
            Merrill stood blinking away stars. "Well," she mumbled "That was... effective." After inspecting the clearing for any remaining sparks that might start a forest fire, Merrill gathered up her staff and started for camp. The sun glimmered through the branches, and the mage smiled. It would take a lot more than a few evil trees to ruin a day as lovely as this.


	2. Tempting Fate

The Hanged Man was as hot as someone who was too hot to make similes.   
That person was, in fact, Varric. He had ditched his overcoat, gloves, boots, and most of his shirt, and was lying flat on one of the dirty tables in the bar. On the tables next to him lay Hawke, Isabela, and Fenris, each in varying states of undress (Except for Isabela, who had nothing to undress down to. This is not to say she hadn't tried, however).  
“So," Said Hawke. This was followed by a long silence. "So."  
“This wouldn't be so bad if we had something to do," Fenris remarked, spinning an empty tankard.  
“Yeh," Isabela agreed, yawning and stretching like a cat "It's been so quiet, I almost fe-"  
In an uncharacteristic flurry of motion, Varric had leapt from the table, bounded over Hawke, and fell upon Isabela, clamping a hand over her mouth.  
“Don't say it," he hissed as the pirate tried to bite his palm "I know what you were going to say, don't say it."  
“What," asked Hawke flatly, sitting up. Fenris sat up too, surveying the scene with interest.   
Varric looked defensively at his companions. "She was tempting fate," he explained, slightly sheepishly. This was met with confused stared, so Varric elaborated; "Bad things happen when you tempt fate."  
“I'd like to point out a small problem," Fenris purred "We like when bad things happen. We get paid when bad things happen."  
“You don't understand," Varric explained "This isn't 'there are smugglers in my basement' bad, this is 'Kirkwall in flames' bad." Varric seemed to realize he was still holding Isabela's mouth in the bemused silence. He also realized she was reaching for her knives, so he let her go. The pirate unleashed a string of curses and kicked the dwarf in the shins.  
Fenris seemed to be pondering something, unaware of Varric's poor efforts to return the kick. Finally, he shrugged and said "Anything would be better than sitting around this filthy tavern all day."  
Very slowly, Hawke, Varric, and Isabela turned to Fenris. "Fenris-" began Hawke. The elf smiled.  
Somewhere, far off in city, there was an explosion.


	3. Evil Weapon

“Hey Blondie! Come over here for a second, would ya'?,"  
Anders stood up, wiping his bloody palms on his overcoat. His search of demon’s corpse had yielded only a few disappointing coins. It seemed Varric had found better in the pile of treasure chests piled against the wall, however, and Anders went over to him. The dwarf stood up and pointed to a long box that had been bound in chains. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet marked with arcane symbols, was a long, dark staff with purple detailing. An odd scent met Anders's nose, like decaying flesh.  
“Can you use it?" Asked Varric.  
"Sure," replied Anders, shrugging, then reaching down to pick it up.  
As soon as his fingers brushed the smooth surface of the staff, warmth spread through him and the world faded. A thick, rich voice echoed around the dark space:  
 _Hello, Anders._  
"Wonderful. I'll learn someday," sighed the healer, deciding to play along with whatever demon he had awoken until he could figure out how to kill it "Hello there." The staff glowed and writhed under his hand.  
 _So you're looking for power?_ it whispered _The power to make all mages free?_  
"Frankly; yes, but not from you."  
The staff hissed and changed, elongating and thickening into a large snake, then wrapping itself around the mage. _Insolent human_ , It roared, _you do not escape so easily!_  
Anders was starting to get slightly worried. He could no longer reach the weapon on his back, and his friends hadn't done anything daring yet that he could tell.  
Then, out of nowhere, a second voice echoed; EXCUSE ME  
Both the snake and Anders looked around to see an armored figure, glowing blue, but with a slightly red tinge.  
THIS MAGE IS MINE  
 _Who says?_ Hissed the snake come staff, uncurling itself from Anders.  
I DO; I AM VENGENCE  
I HAVE GIVEN HIM THE POWER HE SEEKS  
Anders groaned, covering his face with his hands. Now was really not the time for a possession  
 _It has been almost three hundred years since I last had a thrall! I need him!_  
YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO NEEDS HIM  
TRY AND TAKE HIM  
The snake lunged at Justice, maw gaping, huge enough to swallow the spirit. The warrior only raised a hand. Where they met, there was a flash of blue light, and the world returned.  
"Anders, hey, Anders!" There was someone patting his cheeks. The mage mumbled something and waved the person away.  
"What happened," he grumbled, sitting up groggily and rubbing his head. There was definitely a welt there.  
Hawke, who had been the one attempting to wake Anders up, sat back down next to the mage  
"Well, you touched that staff then passed out for a while. A couple minutes ago you did the Justice thing but you seem alright now."  
"Thanks, I think I _am_ alright"  
"What should we do with the staff?"  
"Not touch it," said Anders firmly "lock it up again and leave it here.  
Hawke shrugged "Alright. Varric?"  
"What? But I just-" the dwarf protested  
"Varric."  
"Fine."  
Hawke stood, patted Anders on the shoulder, and went to see how Aveline was doing.  
Anders rubbed his head again. For once, he thought, he was really quite glad to have Justice around.


	4. Gorgeous Garment Generation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is the stupidest and therefore my favorite.

"Stop," Isabela held out her arms. Varric, Sebastian and Hawke slid to a stop behind her.

"What is it, Rivani?" Varric peered around Isabela's hips and into the empty corridor. " _Another_ trap?"

In answer, the captain knelt, picked up a small stone, and hurled it at an unremarkable spot on the floor. As soon as it made contact, the whole ceiling collapsed.

"Fantastic," muttered Sebastian, brushing stone dust from his shoulders "How many is that now?"

"I lost count at the one with the butterflies, honestly." Hawke coughed, stepping daintily over the pile of bricks that had been the ceiling. "But it looks like your troubles will soon be over." She pointed. At the end of the collapsing corridor, there was pair of shining doors, illuminated by a beam of light.

"Finally," Varric scrambled over a particularly large chunk of mortar. "I thought it would never end."

"Don't get too comfy," Isabela landed next to them, helped through the rubble by Sebastian. "There's no reason the door won't be trapped too."

"One way to find out." The party of adventurers started purposefully towards the doors. As they entered the final room, a tiny foyer, and Hawke reached into her pocket for the key, her boot hit a raised stone and something _clicked_.

The foyer was instantly flooded with appeared to those trapped in it to be a flurry of silver sparkles. Hawke barely had a chance to shout a curse before she was covered in a whirlwind of glitter. For almost thirty seconds, Hawke could neither breathe nor see.

Blinded and spluttering, she turned to her companions, shouting "Did none of you see that? What do I keep all you rog-" She stopped, mouth hanging open.

"What," Isabela rubbed her eyes, panicked. "Was it a flesh eating gas? I couldn't..." She trailed off, squinting at Hawke.

The Champion of Kirkwall closed her mouth, then opened it again, then closed it.

The silence was broken only by Sebastian commenting "Well. That was... unexpected. We're all seeing the same thing, right?" He added nervously.

"If you mean fancy dress clothes, then I think we're all on the same level of crazy." Varric assured him. The silver glitter lay like thick snow on the floor of the foyer and the shoulders of the companions. Isabela shifted her weight and the dress she now appeared to be wearing sent small eddies into the air to join the motes already floating there.

Once you got over the shock of it, Hawke thought, her companions did look rather nice. Sebastian and Varric were wearing well tailored formal tunics in flattering colours and cuts. Sebastian also had a vest with particularly spectacular gold embroidery and a tiny crown perched on his head (Hawke bit her lip to fight back a laugh when she saw it). Each had highly polished boots and spotless gloves. Isabela, on the other hand, had received a dark blue dress that left little to the imagination. Her neck and arms jingled with gold jewelry. As a finishing touch, her hair and been styled and make-up redone. In fact, all of Hawke's friends looked like they had had a long bath, the grime of dungeon-crawling scrubbed away. Quickly, Hawke sneaked a peak at herself, and instantly regretted it.

Her own dress was a pale baby blue, with a large white ribbon around the waist, surely tied in a huge bow in the back. It was cut a little low for her tastes, but that was not of concern. What was highly worrying was the skirt, which was wider then her shoulders and covered in tiny gems. It must look like an iced cake to the casual observer. Hawke neither knew how it was supported, nor did she care. The whole thing was utterly ridiculous, and the Champion could not stifle a groan.

"Oh, don't be like that," Isabela shuffled over to her and patted her arm consolingly. "You look lovely." She managed not to laugh for a full five seconds.

"You inspire such confidence," Growled Hawke, swatting her giggling friend away. "You did you all get such nice, fitting costumes while I'm stuck with this?"

"It could be worse." Varric told her. "How?" "You could have a crown," he intoned, gesturing towards Sebastian.

"No one has a crown- oh." Sebastian began, but realized the comment was directed towards him, smoothing down his hair and muttering " _Maker_ ," when he touched the circlet.

"No, Varric, look, _she does_ ," Isabela pointed at Hawke's head. "It was hidden in her hair!"

The dwarf chortled. "I guess it _can't_ be any worse."

Hawke hid her red face in her gloved hands. Why couldn't someone have seen that trap?

Then Hawke looked up "Stop laughing," she commanded "Do you hear something?"

They listened. "Music?" Hazarded Sebastian. "It sounds like a waltz." "It's coming from the door."

The key had somehow found itself into Hawke's palm.

Without a word, the four well-dressed adventurers opened the doors and gone through.


	5. The Shadow Knows

Flemeth did not like to travel incogneto, but sometimes it was necessary.

When it was, she would take to form of a brittle old woman and hobble down the most out of the way road she could fine. No one would look twice, let alone once. Even if someone did give her a third glance, they would see nothing suspicious, provided she traveled in the dark.

Light of any kind would reveal her; a shadow too large for her stooped form, too horned for her grizeled hair and to majestic for her lined face. The dragon in her heart would be visible at her back and somehow, no matter how unremarkable she looked, no one failed to notice it.


End file.
